‘But ... But ...’
He dialled again and held the receiver out to Pru.
‘Here, you have a listen. It’s either an old message,’ Eddie said with a grin, ‘or a very new one.’
Chapter 57
The comforting thing about staying with your parents was you could slob around just as you’d done as a teenager and they weren’t shocked.
It was mid-afternoon on New Year’s Eve and miserable outside. Liza, stretched out on the sofa and eating Sugar Puffs out of the packet, was watching the closing minutes of Brief Encounter and wishing that just this once Celia Johnson would throw her library book at her dreary husband and run off into the black and white sunset with Trevor Howard.
Margaret Lawson appeared in the sitting room doorway, drying her hands on a kitchen towel.
‘Silly woman, should have grabbed her chance while she had it,’ she observed briskly. ‘Should have gone off with the doctor.’
Liza scooped out another handful of Sugar Puffs and crammed them into her mouth.
‘Careful,’ said Margaret Lawson, ‘you’re getting them on your new jumper.’
Liza was wearing the turquoise and white zigzag-patterned jumper because her mother had knitted it for her and when someone gives you a jumper for Christmas you have to wear it, even if it does make you look like Roger Whittaker. Personally Liza felt a few Sugar Puffs dotted here and there amongst the zigzags didn’t go amiss.
‘Molly McKnight’s having a few friends round to her house this evening.’
‘Didn’t know she had that many,’ said Liza. Heavens, now she even sounded like a teenager. It must be the Sugar Puffs. ‘Well, she’s invited us,’ said her mother, ‘if you’d like to go.’
Molly McKnight’s booming voice still made Liza quail. Nothing had ever been said, but she had an uncomfortable feeling her parents’ eagle-eyed next-door neighbour knew exactly what had been going on in the back garden that night.
‘I don’t think so.’ Liza didn’t want to socialise anyway. The whole point of coming down here to Devon had been to avoid other people and the need to put on a brave face. Especially on New Year’s Eve.
‘Not even for an hour or two?’ Her mother looked disappointed. ‘We wouldn’t have to stay until midnight.’
‘Mum, you and Dad go. I’ll be fine. Honestly, Id rather be on my—’
‘No, no,’ Margaret Lawson cut in hurriedly, ‘we wouldn’t dream of doing that. Goodness, it was only a suggestion – you know us, we’re just as happy staying here.’
Liza hid a smile. So her mother had read the article in this morning’s Mail too, the one about more people committing suicide on New Year’s Eve than on any other night of the year.
‘Mum, I’m not going to kill myself.’
Margaret Lawson tried to react as though the thought hadn’t crossed her mind.
‘Liza, what an idea! Of course you’re not. I’m just saying we don’t want to go to one of Molly’s silly parties anyway. They’re fearfully dull. All she ever talks about is education cuts and bringing back the birch. And she serves home-made wine.’
When the doorbell rang an hour later, Liza was too engrossed in The Great Escape to answer it.
Maybe this time Steve McQueen could squeeze a few extra revs out of his bike and make it over that wire fence.
Vaguely she heard her mother, still busy in the kitchen, mutter, ‘Now who’s that at the blasted door?’
Moments later, the sitting room door swung open. A great waft of aftershave filled the room.
Liza, who was delving into a newly opened box of Cheerios, twisted round to have a look at whoever had just walked in.
She froze in mid-delve when she saw who it was. ‘Oh my God.’
‘I’ve got the Bentley outside,’ Leo Berenger announced. When Liza didn’t react he heaved an irritated sigh. ‘Well, come on then, woman, get a move on, will you? We haven’t got all bloody day.’
‘I phoned your friend Dulcie,’ he said brusquely. ‘She told me where you were. What are those things stuck to your front?’
‘Sugar Puffs.’ Liza picked them off her sweater. Far too agitated to eat them – her stomach was churning like a washing machine – she clutched them in the palm of her hand.
‘That’s a terrible sweater.’
‘Thanks. I already know.’
The Bentley raced on along the narrow country lanes. Leo Berenger clearly didn’t like to hang about. If he was doing sixty miles an hour now, thought Liza, toes curling, what kind of speed was he planning on when they hit the motorway?
She gazed out of the window at the stark black outlines of the trees whizzing past and wondered if this was really happening.
‘We flew back from Washington this morning.’ Leo interrupted her muddled thoughts.
So that’s where he’d taken Kit. Liza breathed out slowly, forcing herself to relax. Her toes were now gripped with cramp. ‘Why Washington?’
‘The doctors here couldn’t make me any cast-iron promises. Kit’s insides were a mess.’ As he spoke, Leo kept his gaze on the road ahead. ‘This surgeon was recommended to me. He’s one of the best thoracic guys in the world ... and Kit was in a bad way,’ he added grimly. ‘He needed the best.’
‘But he’s going to be all right?’ whispered Liza.
